“without involvement, there is no commitment. Mark it down, asterisk it, circle it, underline it. No involvement, no commitment
” – Steven Covey
Sensory Whiplash, Miles vs Minutes, and Maintaining Connection
I have been back in the US for three weeks now, and they have honestly been the slowest three weeks I can remember—especially in contrast to the prior five weeks that seemed to fly by while in Egypt.
There is a specific kind of sensory whiplash that occurs when you swap the rhythmic chaos of Cairo for the structured quiet of rural Pennsylvania. For over a month, my world was measured in footsteps, Ubers, and street corners. In Egypt, a trip to the tailor was an 18-minute walk filled with the sensory immersion of street food aromas, navigating traffic, and the inevitable interactions with people along the way.
Back in the States, I needed that same service—to hem something—which required a much longer process. I could not simply take an 18-minute walk. Here, I had to get into my car, buckle up, and drive 22 minutes to the woman who does my alterations. The GPS told me it would take exactly 18 minutes; however, there was a myriad of farm equipment and Amish buggies that slowed the process.
It is an interesting comparison when I think about it. In the car, I am isolated in a metal box, moving through a landscape I see but don’t touch. In Egypt, those same 18 minutes were entirely different. Even when taking an Uber, there was still some interaction and engagement.
We won’t even get into the discussion associated with the difference in ordering DoorDash here and the cost of a simple meal compared to ordering Talabat there. Just know that there is a major difference, and sticker shock is very real.
News During a Conflict
This whiplash is most acute when I look at a screen. In Egypt, my phone was a lifeline—a constant pulse of vital information with messages from class, colleagues, and friends. While there, I could follow news about both Egypt and the US. Egyptian news outlets included US coverage as well as reporting from other countries.
When the “conflict” began, I could easily follow updates about what was happening across the Middle East. Even though Egypt was not part of the attacks, I heard daily updates about events and responses. I knew colleagues in Qatar were shifting to remote learning, while those in the UAE were checking on family members who had moved to other countries out of caution.
Since returning, the information I encounter is largely politicized reporting about statements being made—rarely the actual facts of what occurred. And before anyone says something, I recognize that news anywhere can carry a particular lens shaped by governing structures. My point, however, is that US and global news is readily shared in Egypt, while here in the US, that same global perspective feels less visible.
I can still follow what is happening through social media algorithms that continue to send updates. I see that the conflict is significantly impacting energy consumption in Egypt, to the point that most areas—aside from tourist locations—now shut down at 9 p.m., or 10 p.m. on weekends. This dramatically shifts daily culture, as that was traditionally when people began going out. I also see reports of unprecedented rainfall and immediate school closures accompanied by messages of “stay home, stay safe.”
There seems to be a stronger interest in global events among colleagues I have in other parts of the world. Here, that awareness feels more isolated. This is not a new observation. Even when working with my tutor, he or his children would ask me about events in the US that they had read about or seen in the media.
Whether it was regional conflict or a massive sandstorm, the communication from my Egyptian colleagues was personal, urgent when necessary, and deeply human. We were all in the “village” together, navigating uncertainty in real time—even now that I am seven time zones away.
The Dentist: Part II – A Study in 12,000-Mile Connections
If you’ve been following my journey, you know that my time in Cairo included an unexpected, high-stakes detour into Egyptian endodontics. Finding a dentist in a foreign city for an emergency root canal is the ultimate test of a village.
Through a series of rapid-fire connections, I found Dr. Hussam, who didn’t just fix my tooth—he became a symbol of the hospitality I experienced across Egypt. Honestly, I would rather deal with another root canal in Egypt than have had to return home.
I had shared my previous blog post with Dr. Hussam, and he was struck by the phrase I used to describe the referral that led me to him: “Don’t worry, I got you. I got a guy.” He told me he hoped he could one day say the same—that he would have a “guy” (a friend) here in the States. I assured him that he most certainly does. He mentioned he might visit this summer and would like to connect. My answer was immediate: “Absolutely. Let me know where you are, and if I can get there, I will be there.”
But this connection goes even deeper than a future visit.
This week, I walked into my US-based dentist’s office to begin placing a crown on that same tooth. As soon as I stepped through the door, my dentist, Dr. Cory, looked at me and laughed. “Really? Only you,” he said. “How is it possible that you actually needed to find a root canal specialist in the middle of Egypt—for a different tooth?”
The Invisible Send Button
Then came the reveal.
During my treatment in Cairo, I had asked if I could take a photo with Dr. Hussam as part of documenting my experience. The next day, he asked for that photo. What I didn’t realize was how far that single image would travel.
He shared it with his colleague in the US—Abs, as my dentist calls him—who then shared it with my dentist.
Within days of my procedure in Cairo, my dentist in Pennsylvania already knew what had been done and had a photo of me with Dr. Hussam on the other side of the world.
It was a profound moment of clarity. A network of professionals, connected by nothing more than trust, respect, and a simple “send” button—with no real reason to communicate about my experience—had already bridged a 12,000-mile gap.
This had happened before with colleagues in Qatar. A photo was shared, passed between two people, and returned to me through WhatsApp in less than nine hours.
This is how a village works. It is not built through formal systems or risk-managed processes. It is built through people who care enough to share, to connect, and to reach out—sometimes without even realizing the impact.
Lessons from Memories
This past Wednesday was April 1st. While many know it as April Fool’s Day, it is also now tied to the anticipated return of humanity to the moon with Artemis II. For me, however, it marks a personal milestone—on this day in 2002, I walked onto the campus of Shippensburg University for my job interview.
Twenty-four years later, sitting in my Pennsylvania home, the contrast is striking.
While I was in Egypt, navigating news and making decisions about returning home, the communication from my home institution felt… different. Even now, after three and a half weeks back, I find myself more connected to colleagues at Ain Shams than to those in the halls where I have spent nearly a quarter-century.
My phone remains full of messages from Egypt—colleagues, my tutor, students inviting me to join presentations remotely. Meanwhile, at home, the silence largely remains.
A few colleagues have reached out, and interestingly, some have expressed a similar sense that things here lack urgency or meaning. These conversations often circle back to professional value—what individuals bring to the table and whether that is recognized.
In speaking with a fellow scholar, I realized I am not alone in feeling more disconnected than before leaving. Some of her luggage remains unpacked, just like mine—not out of laziness, but as a quiet resistance to the reality that there will be no return this semester.
What I have come to understand is this: the bonds that connect people often form around a shared purpose. Because of that, people go above and beyond.
The connections forged through the National Science Teaching Association and Valley Forge Military Academy and College remain incredibly strong. Colleagues and friends didn’t just stay in touch—they reached out with intention.
“Hey, how are you doing? We know you don’t like to be bored. If you want, we have a project you can work on with us…” While some may joke that I don’t realize they are getting free work from me, that is okay – I am glad to contribute, to volunteer, to be part of something larger.
Whether it was writing, governance work, or contributing to reports, that outreach mattered. It reinforced that true professional relationships are not tied to a workplace—they are sustained through shared commitment and mutual growth.
Reflections on a Date
As April 1st approached, I reflected on a chapter I once wrote about mentorship. The central message still holds: seek out mentors, value their experiences, and recognize that your path will evolve.
Now, nearing the end of my 24th year, that message feels even more relevant. I also recognize that I may now serve as that mentor for others—especially for the students I continue to work with across contexts.
Walking the Walk in Differing Worlds
Returning to a world where filling my gas tank at $4.24 per gallon and driving everywhere feels strangely indulgent after the mindfulness of Egypt’s energy limitations and pay differences. I still hesitate before flipping a light switch, a lingering habit shaped by a different rhythm of living.
But the real change is not in how I use electricity—it is in how I use my voice.
As I noted in a previous blog, this experience has fundamentally recalibrated my approach to leadership and mentorship. I will return in the fall not just with new insights on STEM, but with far less tolerance for unnecessary politics and legalese, and a much stronger commitment to intentionality where it truly matters and is deserved
I have learned that the most important work we do is not found in reports or formal structures—it is found in the connections we maintain.
I may now have to drive 18 minutes to see my seamstress, but I refuse to let my professional relationships become as isolated as that drive.
I am choosing MYvillage.
Learning, Lessons, and Living 